#EnglishWriters #Victorian
So then, the name which travels si… With English life from childhood—… Means this. The sun is setting. “… Till the sunset, and ended,” says… It lacked the “chord” by stage—use…
AT length the then of my long hop… Yet had my spirit an extreme unres… I knew the good from better was gr… At length, but could not just as y… So I lay straight along, and thru…
Not in thy body is thy life at all But in this lady’s lips and hands… Through these she yields thee life… What else were sorrow’s servant an… Look on thyself without her, and r…
What is the sorriest thing that en… None of the sins,—but this and tha… Which a soul’s sin at length could… These yet are virgins, whom death’… Might once have sainted; whom the…
OF her I thought who now is gone… And, the thought passing over, to… Was like a fall from spirit into s… Or from the heaven of heavens to s… None other than Love’s self ordai…
I never reared a young Wombat To glad me with his pin—hole eye, But when he most was sweet & fat And tail—less; he was sure to die!
Sometimes she is a child within mi… Cowering beneath dark wings that l… With still tears showering and ave… Inexplicably fill’d with faint ala… And oft from mine own spirit’s hur…
I DID not look upon her eyes, (Though scarcely seen, with no sur… 'Mid many eyes a single look,) Because they should not gaze rebuk… At night, from stars in sky and br…
‘There is a budding morrow in midn… So sang our Keats, our English ni… And here, as lamps across the brid… In London’s smokeless resurrectio… Dark breaks to dawn. But o’er the…
I deemed thy garments, O my Hope,… So far I viewed thee. Now the spa… Is passed at length; and garmented… Even as in days of yore thou stand… Ah God! and but for lingering dul…
SHE bowed her face among them all… By one they rose and went. A litt… They showed—a very little. More f… She seemed because of that: she mi… Proud else in her turn, and have s…
Not that the earth is changing, O… Nor that the seasons totter in the… Not that the virulent ill of act a… Seethes ever as a winepress ever t… Not therefore are we certain that…
The Orchard—Pit Piled deep below the screening app… They lie with bitter apples in the… And some are only ancient bones th… And some had ships that last year’…
AH! dear one, we were young so lo… It seemed that youth would never g… For skies and trees were ever in s… And water in singing flow In the days we never again shall k…
As thy friend’s face, with shadow… Somewhile unto thy sight perchance… Ghastly and strange, yet never so… In thought, but to all fortunate f… As thy love’s death—bound features…